


Do You Know What Hell Is?

by CiaraK_1996



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiaraK_1996/pseuds/CiaraK_1996
Summary: This is based on this prompt: https://autisticookie.tumblr.com/post/185793913071/hell-thinks-they-cant-physically-hurt-crowley"Hell thinks they can’t physically hurt Crowley anymore, right? But what about mentally? Trapped him in his own mind, in a comatose state of sorts, having him relive his worst nightmare over and over and over and over again..."It would be a shame if a certain angel intervened.





	Do You Know What Hell Is?

A month had passed since the Armageddon that never happened. Crowley smiled at Aziraphale, the was reminiscing about how fun it was to scare Hell with the holy water after all Aziraphale was an angel and had very few opportunities to be truly deviant. Crowley beamed at him, it was the funniest thing in the universe to him, Aziraphale spoke of how deviant and how malicious he had been as if he had stolen something on graffitied the face of Big Ben. Taking a bath in holy water to scare a few demons was not exactly callous or particularly deviant when you got down to the details; Az looked like Crowley, Crowley was told to get into a bath of holy water, he got in, happened to survive.

“Well I breathed hellfire at Gabriel,” Crowley retorted calmly.

Aziraphale choked on his wine, “What? Why?”

Crowley shrugged, “Just for fun really.”

“Fun?” Aziraphale frowned as if trying to penetrate Crowley’s mind and for a moment the demon felt a little worried, “Did they say something?”

Crowley thought back bitterly to Gabriel’s heartless and cruel words of condemnation, telling him, telling Aziraphale to ‘die already’ with a _smile_. For some reason, he had expected betrayal, a bit of bitterness, but surely some hurt after all angels were supposed to be caring beings. But they seemed indifferent and rather annoyed Aziraphale dying fast enough.

“They said a few things,” Crowley responded indifferently, “Not a full trial though. Beelzebub likes boring their subjects to death every-now-and-then just to make sure they’re still depressed.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, clearly seeing he was dodging the question, “What did they say to upset you so much, dear?”

“I’m not upset,” Crowley protested, his voice betraying his distress more than he would have liked, “It’s over and we’re safe.”

Aziraphale was still frowning slightly, but he allowed Crowley some space, “So what are we doing now?”

Crowley shrugged again, but with a light smile, “Whatever you what, angel.”

They left the sweet little restaurant that had just opened down the road from Aziraphale’s bookshop, it was very nice with the low lighting, the tiny candles on the tables, even the food was rather good. They went for a stroll and talked, mostly about the future now that they had one. Aziraphale realised he was now a fulltime bookshop owner but decided to keep the erratic opening hours the same. Crowley realised he did not have a job at all anymore and was wondering what he was going to do for the rest of his days. They had walked the scenic route back to Aziraphale’s bookshop and said their farewells. Crowley got in his car and waited for Aziraphale to lock the door to his previously destroyed home before finally driving away.

Crowley was still thinking about what he was going to do with eternity when he walked through the open door of his apartment. _Did I open that?_ He thought to himself turning around to glare at the door suspiciously, he had been too caught up in his thoughts to remember clearly. Then suddenly there was a sharp and jarring pain at the base of his skull. As he fell to the floor, he worried about Aziraphale in his bookshop and wondering if this time it would be burned down with hellfire.

The world went black.

Hs head was throbbing when he regained consciousness, he would have liked to have slept off, but he was aware that he was in danger. Very serious danger.

Hell was unmistakable. It was dark, dank, and depressing. It smelled too, not just of sulphur but of mould and misery too. He was tied to a chair in a dark room but was aware there was someone else present.

“What are you going to do this time?” Crowley said as calmly and as coolly as possible, Aziraphale had been very cocky and brave when he was here last and Crowley decided to keep up appearances, despite how scared he was.

“Oh, we’ve had a few thoughtzzz about that.” Beelzebub buzzed from the shadows, moving into the light, “Azazel knows a thing or two about causing torment without physical pain.”

 _Shit_ , Crowley thought bitterly and before he could catch himself, his face had fallen making Beelzebub smile. Crowley fought the urge to fight his bonds, demons had a gift that angels lacked, or rather they had opposing gifts. Angels could feel love, kindness, and charity in good people and use that for Heaven’s advantage. Demons, on the other hand, could feel hate, pain, and fear. Most demons preferred physical torture and torment, it was simple, direct, and usually more rewarding to the demon too. Crowley had a softer touch that was missed on most demons, he annoyed people, little by little, corrupting them over time, playing on their predetermined inclinations toward Heaven or Hell. Azazel, however, was infamous even amongst demons for being particularly wicked. He enjoyed psychological torture, he would wake up every worst nightmare, fear, insecurity inside his victim and add a few more hellish concoctions of his own making just for fun. Human souls often left this room as zombies, locked inside their own minds, stuck in their own torments. The smell of despair and pain that came off them was awful and even made demons cringe as they passed. This had never been done to a being that had lived more than a hundred years, Crowley had lived and seen a lot of awful things.

Azazel stepped out of the shadows with an almost shy expression, “Shall we begin?”

*** * ***

Aziraphale was sat in the restaurant frowning at his pocket watch, _he was late_.

“Are you ready to order?” The waiter asked politely.

“No,” Aziraphale said a little too harsh, “I’ll wait a little longer, thank you.”

Usually, Aziraphale was late to meetings, his watches were always correct, yet somehow, he could never make it to an appointment on time. He had arrived at the restaurant five minutes later than they had planned last night, that was half an hour ago and Crowley was still nowhere to be seen. Abruptly, Aziraphale stood and left the restaurant.

He had the strangest feeling that he was being followed but saw nothing as a boarded the bus that would take him past Crowley’s apartment. He turned the corner towards the entrance the Crowley’s apartment block to find the Bentley parked in the usual place with its usual parking clamp because he wasn’t supposed to park on the double yellow lines. He frowned up at the tall building and went inside. He thought vaguely about using the apartment block’s intercom system but decided he would just go straight up and let himself into his flat. The door had been locked but that changed with a snap of his fingers, before stepping over the threshold look looked down the corridor curiously, still sensing something watching him. Deciding it was probably the fly tapping at the fluorescent bulb of one of the lights, he went inside.

Everything was as it should be inside Crowley’s flat, except for the lack of Crowley. He began opening doors, getting slightly more frantic with each room he found empty. The last door, Aziraphale frowned, feeling his heart pounding with nerves and a lump form in his throat as he turned the handle. Crowley’s bedroom was decorated plainly, a chest of draws and a wardrobe, a couple of bedside tables, and of course his king-size bed. Crowley was in here, but the sight did not bring Aziraphale any joy or comfort. Cautiously, Aziraphale walked into the bedroom, trying to understand the sight before him. Crowley seemed at first asleep, but the sweat soaking through his clothes and the tears escaping his eyes told him something was wrong. Crowley liked to sleep, he said it was peaceful and pleasant. This was anything but pleasant.

Aziraphale had read about nightmares and thought momentarily what humans did about them. Dreamcatchers were often used to ward against such things, but it was a bit late for that now. _I should wake him_ , he thought instantly, but hesitated, he had tried waking Crowley in 1838, which had been an awfully bad idea. _I’m an angel, he reminded himself, and his friend, I cannot let him suffer_.

He gave Crowley a hesitant poke, a little too delicate, and poked him a little more forcefully. Angels could feel compassion and joy from a distance and found harsher emotions a little harder to read because they were not supposed to be looking for them, but the physical touch sent a shock of anguish and invisible torment through Aziraphale’s body making him jump and yelp slightly.

“What in…?” Aziraphale rubbed his fingers that were still stinging, he looked at Crowley’s pale and perfectly still body. Aziraphale bit his lip, they had agreed never to do this to one another back in 1227, but desperate times called for desperate measures. In truth, Aziraphale had never done this to any other being, not forcefully anyway. Empathy often left the door slightly ajar for the purposes of mind-reading, but he had never forced himself into a closed mind. He sat on the large bed beside Crowley and placed his hands on his temples, trying to ignore the physical and mental pain the surged through his fingers and vibrated through the rest of his being. That pain was about to get much worse.

At first, he was standing or maybe floating, in a black nothing. He felt nothing, saw nothing, and heard nothing. Slowly, like a low hum of electricity began to fill his ears and mind, and a gravity, for want of a better word when one is inside someone else’s mind, began crushing him. Aziraphale felt like he was being crushed to death, but he concentrated on Crowley, he had to be inside his own mind somewhere, and he was certainly not going to run away. A flurry of sound filled the empty space as Aziraphale tried to locate Crowley. Snippets of conversations they had spoken long ago, thoughts Crowley had never voiced to a soul. The darker and more painful the words and the feelings, the more Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s presence.

Suddenly there was light, he was in Heaven. However, it was not the Heaven of today, it looked like the first Heaven. Aziraphale had never spent a lot of time in Heaven before he was an Earth-bound Principality, he had been a Cherubim in Eden, but before the first days he had worked in Heaven’s accounts department, working out wages and tax deductions. He still was not clear on how there were wages and taxes before planets and stars were created, but he was aware he was very good at it. He also had no idea how long he had done this job before being promoted to Cherubim, nor did he know how long he had lived before the Earth as time had not been invented yet. If asked his age he either lied or said 6000ish.

Heaven was busy, which was strange. Heaven was never busy. There weren’t enough- _oh_.

Crowley was talking to someone and he was dressed in white and his feathers were whiter. Aziraphale would have been on Earth at this point in creation, the Earth and Eden had been built and needed four guards against some of God’s more unsavoury creations. Crowley looked happy. His eyes were dark brown, soft and loving, he was laughing. Aziraphale stood there in silent awe, he had never asked if Crowley remembered Heaven, he thought the memory would be too painful and really it did not matter who he had been but who he was now.

“Raphael!” Michael called out she looked the same, always bitter, always spiteful. To Aziraphale’s utter amazement Crowley turned around to face her.

“Michael,” He said politely, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Aziraphale frowned, he sounded different. A little less menacing, and a little more … timid. Shy Crowley was not something Aziraphale had come across, and he did not like it. He was the timid one, always scared of Gabriel and Sandalphon, always worried, always nervous; he always relied on Crowley to be calm and confident. Now he saw Crowley in Heaven, an archangel, looking as awkward and timid as Aziraphale felt any time his superiors were present. The angel Crowley had been talking to walked away, and there was something familiar about his slender face, sharp cheekbones and pale blue eyes, but Aziraphale was distracted by Michael standing a little too close to Crowley. He did not like that either. Suddenly an alarm sounded, lights flickered and the celestial ground shook. Instinctively, Aziraphale reached out for Crowley only to be reminded he was in his memory. Aziraphale remembered the bedroom and the tears.

“No,” He whispered, his heart sinking and the tight pain filling his chest as he realised what he was seeing.

Michael lost her balance a little too dramatically and fell into Crowley’s arms, who gave her an undignified shove so that she stood on her own two feet. She looked as if she were going to protest when a number of angels suddenly caught fire, including Crowley. If Aziraphale had been standing on his corporeal feet, he would have fallen to the floor at the sound Crowley made as he burned. He couldn’t hear the other falling angels, just him. The floor vanished and half the host of heaven fell. Aziraphale remembered the Fall, he was on Earth listening to Eve trying to create a song. Adam and Eve had screamed as the sky fell, Aziraphale was not told what had happened until afterwards when the new hierarchy finally remembered there were four angels on Earth and had not the faintest clue as to what they had just witnessed.

*** * ***

**_1349_ **

_Ah_ , Aziraphale thought, _Crowley hated the fourteenth century_.

Aziraphale did not really know why Crowley hated the fourteenth century, he did not like to talk about it for any reason, not even to complain about it. He would simply shudder and hiss and ignore the fact you had even mentioned it.

It was not a fun time to be in Europe and both Aziraphale and Crowley had to constantly move so other humans would not realise they could not get sick. Everyone else got sick, and most of them died. By 1349 over 200 million people had died and the plague was getting stronger, sweeping through cities. They were in Glasgow and the plague had only just reached them here, they would have to leave again within the month.

“I simply can’t understand it,” Past-Aziraphale was saying, “So many priests say God is punishing them, but I checked with Gabriel; it’s not us.”

“Hm,” Crowley mumbled. Modern-Aziraphale frowned, thinking bitterly about the memory he was watching.

“I have a summons again,” Past-Aziraphale continued regardless, “They think I get discorporated.”

“We don’t get sick,” Crowley retorted, diverting his attention from the woman coughing as she fed some duck. He suddenly interested in the conversation now that Aziraphale brought up returning to Heaven.

“Oh, I know,” Aziraphale hastened, “No they’re worried, _they_ would … discorporate me when they realised that fact.”

Crowley looked around to make sure no one was listening, “Ah, I guess they have a point.”

“What about you?”

He frowned, “Hell doesn’t care if I get discorporated. No, I just had a few temptations added to my list.”

“You know your list would not be so long if you actually did your job once every couple decades,” Aziraphale retorted bitterly.

“Are you encouraging me to do evil, angel?” Crowley asked smirking.

“No, no,” Aziraphale stammered, “You said cancel each other out, I’ve done my miracles and blessings on time, especially with the plague. You need to do your job to keep that balance, I will not do it all for you.”

“You tempted Edward III,” Crowley retorted pointedly.

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale stuttered heatedly, “You hadn’t actually mentioned a war. I cannot believe they are fighting through this.”

Aziraphale waved his hand as it the air itself was an insult, Crowley watched as the coughing woman collapsed to the floor.

“I’m supposed to go to Askøy, next week,” He muttered.

“Norway?” Aziraphale asked, perplexed, “Why do you need to go to Norway?”

Crowley shrugged, “No idea.”

Aziraphale sensed the lie, “Why are you going to Askøy?”

Crowley glared at the angel, “Evil and discord, angel. What do you think?”

Modern-Aziraphale realised then what he had not seen at the time, _he wanted me to stop him._

But the memory of Aziraphale thought Crowley was being coy and manipulative for the other way, “Well I’m not doing it for you, you still have to bless Margaret.”

“Did I say I wanted you to go to Norway?” Crowley hissed.

 _Leave it alone_ , Aziraphale thought to himself, _just leave it alone you foolish Principality!_

“Then why?” Aziraphale asked ignorantly and obnoxiously.

“Because they don’t have the plague there,” Crowley muttered bitterly, barely audible, probably hoping he was not audible.

Aziraphale had heard it though and exploded, “You would aid to murder thousands of innocent people?! How-how … _demonic!”_

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Crowley retorted bitterly, “I am a bloody _demon!_ I’m supposed to murder and pillage, and rape and maim!”

 _Supposed to_ , Aziraphale thought to himself with a sad smile, _but you never do._ He could feel the pain behind Crowley’s words, even though the pain could not be heard. Aziraphale knew now that all Crowley had to do to take the plague to Norway was get on a boat and go for a stroll, but Aziraphale of the time thought it was malicious, cruel and that it was somehow Crowley’s choice. Their partnership was new and unsteady, they did not know each other very well yet, Aziraphale distrusted Crowley, always suspecting he would try to corrupt him or tempt him. Aziraphale smiled at his foolish past-self; _it’s so bad when you get used to it._

Crowley seemed to hesitate, waiting for an apology, which never came, he then stormed off leaving an angry angel alone in the park staring at a dead woman.

Aziraphale watched Crowley storm off, knowing they would not speak again until 1424 when Crowley spontaneously helped him release King James I, it had turned out a temptation was more effective than a kind miracle. He found himself wondering if Crowley did go to Norway, or if the Black Death had found its own way onto its shores.

*** * ***

The air had shifted, and he was standing beneath the bandstand. Aziraphale instantly felt his chest clench. He knew the day and he knew the words, but he was also feeling Crowley. At the time Aziraphale had been in the moment, he had not felt Crowley’s disappointment, his hopelessness, his grief.

“We’re not friends,” Aziraphale heard himself saying, he was lying through his teeth and lying about where the antichrist was. “We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common,” He had been upset and desperately trying to do the right thing which surely could not involve a demon, but heaven was not listening, “I don’t even like you.”

“You do!” Crowley replied, but this time Aziraphale could feel his emotions clearly, he could feel the stabbing effect his words had had on the demon.

Aziraphale told him the bitter truth about the antichrist, though at least Crowley seemed to take it as a hypothetical situation and not the Aziraphale had in fact located the antichrist and knew everything except his shoe size.

“There isn’t an ‘our side’, Crowley,” Aziraphale

Crowley took a deep breath as if he were going to continue their quarrelsome exchange, or at least that was what Aziraphale had thought. However, now Aziraphale was inside Crowley’s mind, sitting beside his soul and could feel his heartache and almost bereavement. Aziraphale had regretted the words as soon as he said them, but his people find out he would likely fall, and although Crowley joked about it that concept was innately terrifying. He could never be seen to trust Crowley, too be friends with him, to like him, to… Aziraphale had been upset and conflicted about the right and wrong thing to do in this situation. Crowley, however, was barely keeping it together Aziraphale realised. Crowley turned and walked away, thinking that would be the last time they would ever see each other. Crowley was fearing Aziraphale was going to die.

Later. Crowley had not left and the moment he found out Hell knew he had lost the antichrist he raced straight for Aziraphale’s bookshop.

“Angel!” Crowley yelled, “I’m sorry. I apologise … whatever is said. I didn’t mean it,” He looked desperate, “Work with me, I’m apologising here. Yes? Good. Get in the car.”

“What? No!” Aziraphale had said instantly at the time, he had one last card to play before Falling was no longer a bad option, he needed to talk to God.

Crowley had explained that Hell was coming for him, but he was not entirely worried for himself which surmised Aziraphale slightly as he floated watching the scene he had lived before. If Hell knew then Heaven was not far behind, Crowley was worried about Aziraphale.

“I forgive you!” Aziraphale had said, he had meant that statement at least. To him, Crowley was leaving to save his skin, which was a very sensible reaction. Aziraphale did not want to fight, nor watch everyone die, nor die in the crossfire, but he _couldn’t_ leave.

“I’m going home, angel.” Crowley yelled, his voice full of hurt which was nothing compared to the agony Aziraphale could now feel in his heart, “I’m getting my stuff and I’m leaving. And when I’m off in the stars, I, I won’t even think about you!”

Aziraphale had felt the same hurt, but the guilt was overpowering, however, Crowley was simply reliving his own pain and desperation, he had asked Aziraphale to leave with him twice, and he still was not leaving. Crowley’s mind rushed through the memories of fighting Ligur and Hastur, they weren’t emotionally important to him, although Aziraphale was relieved with the amount of caution Crowley had taken with the holy water.

Crowley was driving, and although even in his own memories he looked almost calm and unfazed, Aziraphale could fell his anger and how terribly scared he was as he tried to repeatedly call Aziraphale. There was a fire engine, and fire and Crowley’s heart twisted painfully. Aziraphale looked at his shop, he had not seen it burn nor saw it ruined after. He was distracted by Crowley walking straight into the flames.

“Aziraphale! Aziraphale!” Crowley was looking around desperately, there was something else, beneath the fear. Crowley was pushing his aura, reaching out trying to find Aziraphale, and finding nothing, “Where the Heaven are you? You idiot. Aziraphale! For Go- for Sa- for SOMEBODY’S SAKE, where are you?!”

Aziraphale knew he had been discorporated, which was an inconvenience to the likes of Crowley and Aziraphale. This was not a reaction to discorporation. Aziraphale saw Crowley get knocked down by a jet of water smashing through a window. This was agonising, turbulent, and raw grief.

“Somebody killed my best friend!” Crowley screamed, almost crying, “BASTARDS! ALL OF YOU!”

He picked up his smashed glasses and saw the book. He got out and back into his car. Driving away Aziraphale looked into his pained and broken eyes as he muttered, “Right. I’m done. I’ve had it. I don’t care about any angels or humans or anyone.” He said this is a caring and gentle way, like someone in shock who was saying words with no meaning, “I hate you all! Somebody killed my best friend, and I don’t even care who did it. Bastards, all of you!”

Crowley’s heart was breaking, but he wasn’t leaving. Aziraphale frowned, _he should be leaving_ , he thought, _he said he would_. It was in that moment that Aziraphale realised Crowley had asked him to leave, twice, and despite the rejection came racing back only to find he was gone. Crowley had no intention of ever leaving without Aziraphale, and now Aziraphale discorporated or worse, Crowley was driving to a bar to drink whiskey by the bottle.

Aziraphale appears, much like he is currently, but rather than being an entity in Crowley’s mind this past Aziraphale is a discorperated ghost of sorts. Crowley makes some small talk, as if not at all confused or surprised by Aziraphale’s sudden and ghostly appearance. Aziraphale had been too distracted to keep himself in one place long enough to deliver his message before running off to find a host.

 _He thinks he’s hallucinating_ , present-day Aziraphale realised, it was not until he said he had been discorporated that Crowley began actually listening to the problem at hand. Current Aziraphale stared at Crowley as he realised this, saw him light up slightly, a little gleam of hope behind his eyes. Aziraphale felt a hard pain in his chest, _he thought I was dead-dead and was drinking himself to death waiting for the world to end_.

Just like that, the vision changed again, this time Crowley was sitting in a bar, but this time Aziraphale did not appear as he had done before. The earth began to shake and crack. Everyone ran away screaming. Crowley gestured for another drink only to realise the barman had run away as well. He stood and staggered towards the bar.

“What are you doing, Crawley?” Dagon was standing behind him, “Hastur was supposed to be bringing you back down to Hell to explain yourself. Instead, he’s vanished, and _you’re_ drunk!”

Crowley, laughed, “It’s the end of the world! I’m allowed to be drunk!”

“Crawley,” Dagon said as sternly as they could muster, “You need to answer for the disappearance of the Antichrist, and for the evidence that you have been fraternising with an _angel_.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley nodded, “Did you kill him?”

Dagon smiled, “Killing angels is our job, Crawley, we are at war!”

Crowley snapped his fingers and Dagon burst into hateful red flames, fire would discorporate them, but not destroy them. Aziraphale watched as Crowley drank and watched the world end around him. He did not run to Alpha Centauri, he did not fight against the end, he did not fight in the war. He did nothing but drink and sob. Aziraphale wanted to comfort him, wake him up from infernal trap. These are the memories Crowley is trapped in, every bad experience, every argument, the one time he thought he had lost Aziraphale forever. Every bad memory, every heartbreak. Suddenly Aziraphale became aware of a noise, not in the memory but heard from his own ears, he regretfully left Crowley alone in his torment.

*** * ***

He was following Aziraphale to capture him, Heaven had spoken, and he was to be imprisoned upstairs until they could figure out a way to execute him. Sandalphon had volunteered enthusiastically, but it was Gabriel who drew the short straw. However, Aziraphale was acting … odd. He had sat alone in a fancy restaurant and had not eaten anything, then left, coming straight here.

Friendships with demons was a crime, but they had not actually written any rules against have dinner and regular … what did humans call them? Dates. Gabriel’s head hurt at the thought, it was wrong, so very wrong. How did _this_ happen?

Gabriel had followed Aziraphale into the demon’s lair. It was nicer than he had expected. He was expecting it to be like hell, dark, dank, a heavy rotting smell, maybe even a torture device or two. Instead, it was clean, white, and airy. He was also surprised to see plants, although he sensed and a great deal of fear in them. He had fallen behind so Aziraphale would not spot him and now used some archangel powers at his disposal and turned invisible, in truth what he did was expand the atoms of his corporeal form so that they were spaced apart like evaporated water, a light mist to keep enough form to hear and see, but not enough to be easily seen.

He drifted through the demon’s flat and found Aziraphale sitting beside him on his bed. The angel was cupping the demons face with his hands. There was something … intimate, and something desperate in the way Aziraphale was trying to wake the demon who appeared to be in a fear-induced coma. Aziraphale was gone, his eyes open and unseeing, every now and then Crowley would shudder and thrash slightly, Gabriel watched as Aziraphale struggled to calm him. Once or twice Aziraphale subconsciously whimper from some unseen anguish. Now was Gabriel’s chance to take Aziraphale back to heaven. He started pulling his form back together, but he had not realised he had drifted a little too high and once his body had weight again, he fell a couple of inches to the floor. He dissipated again instantly as the angel startled, suddenly pulled from his trance.

*** * ***

Aziraphale was back in Crowley’s apartment, cupping his face. It was disorientating coming back to the physical world and it took him a moment longer to remember why. _Ah yes_ , he thought, _someone’s here_.

He tried looking and expanding his aura to feel who was watching them only to find nothing. He returned to Crowley’s bedroom and looked at the demon. He was looking worse, paler and his skin was clammy, his face distorted fighting his internal misery and torment. Aziraphale sat back down beside him and miracled a cold damp cloth and dabbed Crowley’s forehead.

“Pain, misery, hostility and regret,” Aziraphale muttered to himself, “How can I save you?”

He thought for some time, dabbing Crowley’s head was not exactly helping, but it was something. Unknown to him, Gabriel was still watching, perplexed and intrigued. Aziraphale was condemning himself but there was something fascinating in their intimacy and he wondered how they had kept it a secret for so long.

Aziraphale brushed a strand of deep red hair from Crowley damp face, “Opposites sometimes work,” He spoke to himself, “Opposite of nightmare is a dream, opposite of pain is calm … regret is vanquished by hope. Opposite of misery is joy. What is the opposite of hostility?”

He thought for a moment, “Like? Kindness? No something stronger,” Aziraphale shifted slightly and gulped, “Love is a strong opponent of misery … no that can’t possibly work.”

Gabriel almost forgot how to exist, he wanted to laugh. _These idiots_ , he thought to himself, _how did these idiots avert the apocalypse and somehow not realise they were in love with each other?_

Aziraphale was blushing and trying to dismiss the thought and for a mad moment, Gabriel felt like pointing out the obvious to the naïve angel and thought better of it. He needed to take Aziraphale to Heaven, one could not disobey orders. Gabriel made sure he did not make a sound as he returned his familiar corporeal form and slowly approached the unsuspecting angel. He raised a hand to firmly grab Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale straightened.

“Hello, Gabriel.” He said bitterly.

Gabriel froze, mildly alarmed, “Aziraphale.”

“What have you done to him?” He asked fiercely, this was not the angel Gabriel knew.

“We did not do this,” Gabriel allowed, someone with nothing left to lose was a dangerous thing, “If we wanted the scum out of the way we would have prepared him a bath.”

Aziraphale smiled cruelly, “That did not work the last time, did it?”

Gabriel seethed slightly, taking a step back as Aziraphale stood with a dangerous ferocity in his blue eyes. “We know you switched, Aziraphale. And clearly the … the opposition made the first move against you. You are to be imprisoned … upstairs, for the rest of time. Apparently, Beelzebub has decided to imprison your demon in his own head.”

Aziraphale smiled with mad malice, “I am not _going_ anywhere.”

Gabriel sighed, “It’s not a choice Aziraphale.”

“You’re going to have to kill me.”

Gabriel laughed, “Crowley didn’t tell you? We wanted you dead and you deceived us. You must have realised you cannot stay _together_.”

Aziraphale seemed to blush slightly at Gabriel’s tone, but he was still so angry, “You’re going to have to kill me.” He repeated slowly.

Gabriel considered Aziraphale for a moment, wondering how dangerous he was in the current situation. “If you don’t accept this punishment you know what will likely come next,” he looked pointedly at Crowley, “And … the opposition isn’t happy with you either.”

“I don’t care!” Aziraphale shouted, startling Gabriel so much he flew back to heaven. If he was to be damned, then so be it.

Aziraphale turned back to Crowley who was tossing and writhing on the bed again, he placed and hand soothingly on his forehead, “Hush, dear, I’m here.”

He was thinking again. Crowley’s breathing was erratic to say the least, a gentle and physical touch seemed to soothe him, and he needed something positive and strong to pull him out of his nightmares. Aziraphale had something in mind, something that made him want to smile as well as run away and hide until the world had forgotten him. Crowley convulsed suddenly and screamed. He’s falling again, Aziraphale thought instantly, and I never want to hear that sound ever again!

He swallowed his fear and kissed him. It was desperate, needy, and was not working. Aziraphale began to cry. He lifted Crowley’s dead weight into his arms and held him protectively, only to realise he was exuding his own fear. He needed to exude love and hope. He awkwardly pulled Crowley closer and cupped his face. He was no longer screaming and looked almost calm in his slumber. He looked at his sleeping eyelids and wished to see his snake-like eyes smile again, he looked at the freckles on his face and wondered if they were kissed Aziraphale owed to him, he looked at lips and wanted to kiss them again.

He cupped his face tenderly and just as his lips brushed Crowley’s sparks flew through his body in a way he had never experience before, “Raphael,” He whispered with a smile, “Crawley or Anthony J Crowley. The name doesn’t matter to me, dear. All that matters is that _I love you_ with all my heart.”

He allowed the feeling of pure love fill his corporeal and celestial being until it made the room hum and gently kissed the slumbering demon in his arms. Crowley’s pain faded, little by little. No matter how firmly Aziraphale held him it was never quite close enough, in the end he was holding Crowley’s head at the base of his skull, his fingers tangled in his blood-red hair. His other arm wrapped around his waist holding him in a tight embrace. His blue eyes were shut tight, concentrating on his hope and love to wake Crowley from his nightmares.

Arms snaked around his body, slipping accidentally under his shirt and gripping at his white-gold curls. Aziraphale’s eye burst open and he pulled away, to find Crowley yellow eyes staring back. He still looked very ill and weak, but there was a worried smile playing on his pink lips. For a moment Aziraphale’s natural flustered reaction threatened to ruin the moment, instead, he leaned back in to give Crowley a quick kiss. Crowley opened his mouth slightly and Aziraphale sought the flesh he had not yet tasted with his tongue. Crowley seemed surprised and his unspoken words transformed into a groan. Slowly Aziraphale lowered him back down on the bed and followed him, leaning on an elbow to stop his superior weight crushing the weakened demon beneath him. Crowley had other ideas though and pulled at Aziraphale until he was near on top of him, bodies flush against one another.

Suddenly Aziraphale sat up and tried to calm himself, he was failing.

“I had the worst dream,” Crowley moaned, trying desperately to ignore Aziraphale’s change of speed.

Aziraphale looked down at him softly, “I know, dear.”

Crowley looked as if he were about to cry and shook his head, “No, you don’t.”

Aziraphale looked a little guilty, “Yes I do, I entered your mind. I know.”

Crowley looked panicked, “What did you-?”

“Hush, dear,” Aziraphale said suddenly, leaning down close enough to taste Crowley’s breath, “I love you.”

Crowley looked as if he were going to protest, and then thought to the kisses they had just shared, he had feared Aziraphale would ignore them or play it off as some angelic experiment, and for a moment was willing to let it go lest the angel get made and decide to not talk to him for another decade or two.

“I love you,” Aziraphale repeated, trying to let the words sink in, “not charitable _Ag_ _ápe_ , not familial _Storge_ , not _friendly_ _Philia_ , but _Éros_. I love you not out of kindness, or charity, familiarity, or … just as a friend. I love you. Utterly and unconditionally.”

Crowley was breathing heavily again, but the rosiness in his cheeks and the small smile on his lips told Aziraphale that this was a result of excitement. But his frown still worried Aziraphale. He leaned back down, pushing Crowley into the clean bedsheets Aziraphale had just summoned. He kissed him slowly and passionately, hoping Crowley loved him as much as he did. There were tears on his face again.

Aziraphale pulled away again, his face full of concern, “What’s wrong.”

Crowley laughed and sobbed at the same time, “I-I love you too. I-I never, I never thought you could…”

Aziraphale gasped and pulled himself closer to Crowley, just to prove him wrong. He would prove him wrong with every kiss, every glance, and loving caress. Aziraphale loved Crowley with every fibre of his being, with every speck of light in his soul, and he needed Crowley to feel that.

Crowley clung to his angel, so satisfied and overjoyed to have his love returned. Angels were beings of _Ag_ _ápe,_ charitable and unconditional, like how one loves a deity. An impersonal love. Angels felt _Storge_ towards lesser beings. Affectionate and empathic and distant. _Philia_ was a surprising giift to Crowley, the Greek had become corrupted over time, but it meant friendly and equal and respectful. But _Éros_? _Éros_ was the god of passion, physical, passionate, romantic. _Platonic_ was how Crowley had thought of his feelings on the matter and his angel had punched him in the gut with _Éros_.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped against his bruised lips, “Why did you never tell me your name?”

“What?” Crowley sighed, not really listening and wondering where Aziraphale’s lips had gone.

“Raphael,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley’s yellow eyes widened in horror and fear, “I-I, how did…? Oh, _no_!”

Aziraphale replaced his lips on Crowley’s it seemed the fasted way to distract and calm the wily demon.

“Sorry, darling,” He whispered into his mouth, “I told you, I saw your nightmares. I saw you fall.”

Crowley felt his heart drop some several floors beneath his apartment, “I … I don’t like to think about it.” He explained poorly, in truth it was simply not a subject that ever came up, and he was not sure if he was glad or terrified that Aziraphale now knew that part of him.

“I think Crowley sounds better,” Aziraphale teased, kissing his jawline out of some feral instinct, “No matter the name; I love you.”

Crowley moaned, feeling Aziraphale’s love swamp him. Aziraphale lay beside him as if wanting to sleep.

“What are you doing?” Crowley asked cautiously.

Aziraphale snuggled close beside him, “I want to watch over you as you sleep, my love.”

The words filled Crowley’s chest with love and joy that threatened to explode his corporeal heart. He shifted round to face his angel and caress his sweet face, “Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?” He responded, his eyes wide with wonder and love.

“I love you,” Crowley kissed him sweetly, he wanted passion, but they had the rest of time for that.

**Author's Note:**

> I used terms of classic Greek love, please not assume Philia is innately gross. Also, I was rather tipsy when I finished this so hopefully, it's good.


End file.
